


Float

by Val_Creative



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, POV First Person, Spoilers up to Chapter 210, Underage - Freeform, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 01:37:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1761989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is me. And I am him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Float

*

 

He is me. And I am him.

I dream of him, a single brown eye drowning behind gallons of trapped water, a ripple of black cape obscuring the left half of a red insignia; I dream of him, drowning with him, my lungs beginning to fill; and I dream of him holding onto me— unnaturally warm and unwrinkled fingers slipping into my floating hair— he breathes into me, his lips thrust and force mine open as our chests rise and fall.

It is much needier then Sakura-hime's gentle kiss timidly brushing the corner of my mouth. Her face bursts into a bright pink color and she flees into the next room, stammering some sort of honest apology and an excuse to help Fai-san shop in the new world.

He is me. And I am him.

I dream of him like a thousand mirror reflections, afraid to look too deeply into each other or to have that risk of being spellbound with them; I dream of him, mouthing words too quickly for me to catch and the glass in front of me feels thick; and I touch where his hand pushes flat against the mirror barrier and we would fit each other like puzzles, like souls, like lovers if only he were free.

And then he becomes me. And I become nothing.

He gains another brown eye; I steal a magician's blue blue eye; he holds Sakura-hime's hand because I cannot; I travel other dimensions in solitude; he will not feel that he belongs in our "family"; I no longer have a desire to trifle in other manners without a heart than retrieving the feather for the princess, to kill for that wish.

In the middle of a ravaged village, he runs through the chaos and the victims to watch me raise my flaming sword against a sobbing woman huddled to the ground.

He grabs onto my outstretched arm to stop me as she crawls away.

His words are clear. His flesh is real. His brown eyes. His lips.

I possess him as he possessed me; though I have no other desires, it is unprompted and cooling my insides, a nostalgic sensation, drowning; and he fights in his astonishment of my tongue violently pushing past the barrier of his soft mouth and his teeth. After a few moments, I feel his hardening arousal press lightly against me.

We are pressed harder together against a wooden fence, arms lock to each other. No other presence but the falling ashes from the distant fires, the empty homes, and the far away calls of the villagers.

There is no he or there is me. There is no us. Just movement. He moans, long past struggling, and takes to grinding upon the leg pinned between his legs. The once leisure pace increases as does his panting, our ragged dark shirts wrinkling in sync to his movement, and my burned and blood spattered hands slither up his back.

Finally, he gasps hoarsely, that muscle hidden against me spasming as he rocks forward and limply curls the side of his face into my neck.

The final time we meet there are no wooden fences, no burning villages, and no time to waste on a diminutive sensation like drowning— we stand on the brink of the universes colliding and melting together in a gray abyss. My bleeding fingers press weakly to the skin of his warm arm, my chest heavy.

 

*

 

_I am sorry._

 

*


End file.
